Chapter 9 Beside the Sea
Emily and her family arrived in Bournemouth towards the end of June 1940 to find the resort still in holiday mode. She exclaimed: 'People seem to be in denial; they don't realise how serious it is that France has fallen, that German war planes are roaming all over Britain and that invasion could be a reality at any moment. Newspapers are describing the evacuation of allied troops from Dunkirk as a 'victory', but are we truly safe?' Walter's expression said it all as he shook his head and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Most people in Britain decided to stay at home in the wartime emergency, but Emily's home in Petts Wood had been bombed. Bournemouth seemed to be an ideal refuge, being generally considered of no strategic importance. Lloyds Bank would be paying Walter's expenses to stay in a pleasant three-star hotel at the resort and the hotel manager readily agreed to take Emily and her son for little more than the price of their meals. She felt particularly pleased that the hotel, located almost a mile from the town centre, was only a short walk from the sea and told her husband: 'This is just the sort of place we need to recover from the trauma of being bombed out of the home I loved so much. I really don't mind all of us sharing a double room facing away from the sea at the back of the hotel. It is only temporary, neither of us knows where you'll be sent next.'
When Walter went off to work each morning, Emily and her son walked down to sun themselves on the beach in the company of a fair number of like-minded holiday makers. One day, she arrived a little later than usual to find her favourite beach quite crowded with mothers and young children below school age. She loved the smell of the sea; it reminded her of holidays in the happy times before this horrible war started.
The sun beat down out of a bright blue cloudless sky, softened by a gentle sea breeze; a perfect summer's day. Swell rolling steadily towards the beach created a soothing effect, a feeling of inevitability; the gentle 'shush' as each wave fell back to make way for the next inducing an aura of calm and peace.
She took her son for a paddle before smothering him in the last of the sun-cream and settling him down to build a sandcastle against the incoming tide whilst she lay sunbathing in the shade of a nearby breakwater. The ripples began to wash the castle away; she watched him struggle to shore it up.
A rustle of excitement from a group nearby caused her to look up from her comfortable resting place; it could not be important but one woman nearby kept pointing out to sea. Emily tried to discover what the fuss was all about, but the sun in her eyes soon forced her to look back to Richard struggling to rebuild the ruins of his sandcastle which now required urgent attention.
'It's coming this way,' the woman shouted excitedly. Emily looked again and out of the haze on the horizon could just make out a tiny speck flying very low above the surface of the calm sea, laboriously making its way directly towards them. Everyone settled down to watch the mystery; a small single seater aircraft flying slowly below the height of the cliffs.
'What is it doing?' Emily wondered. 'Is it looking for something floating in the sea, a mine perhaps or a pilot from a plane shot down over the Channel?'
Nearer and nearer it came, four hundred yards, two hundred. Emily gasped, 'It can't be. The siren hasn't gone!' The woman who first saw the intruder let out a piercing scream.
As all the adults on the beach threw themselves flat, face down on the sand, Emily yelled: 'Richard, come here at once. Quickly, get under the breakwater.' He seemed not to hear and stood staring at the plane, now only thirty yards away and no more than forty feet above the water. The pilot, clearly visible in a black flying suit, grinned broadly at the panic created by his unexpected arrival.
To his mother's horror, Richard waved happily at the plane; the German waved back and flew on over the town. Emily rushed forward and clutched her son in her arms as the tiny plane flew over them. The little boy gasped in astonishment: 'Ooh look mummy, it's got a black cross on its side and a small swastika on its tail. Is it German?'
YOU ARE READING
THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED
Historical FictionBritain in the 1930s; a novel inspired by real events. Emily falls passionately in love with working class Walter, despite fierce opposition from her class conscious father. She sees marriage as a partnership of equals and resolves to elope to escap...
